Stormrider

by David Gemmell

  'I gave you a little earth magic. Are you hungry now?'

  'Ravenous,' he admitted.

  'Good. Now let us go down to Shelding and eat. We should be in time for the celebrations and the feast.'

  'What are they celebrating?' asked Mulgrave.

  'It was announced yesterday. Heralds have been riding to every village and town. Have you not heard? We have a new king.'

  'I hope he's better than the last one.'

  'They elected the Moidart,' she said.

  Together they left the river bank and took the road to Shelding. Flags and bunting decorated the buildings, and long trestle tables had been set up in the market square. Mulgrave and the Wyrd moved among the happy crowd.

  A young woman recognized Mulgrave, and called out to her friends. 'Here's one of the soldiers of Gaise Macon,' she cried. People gathered around him. Questions were shouted, too many to answer. A tankard of ale was thrust into Mulgrave's hand.

  'Tell us about the Moidart,' said a man. 'They say he's a saint.'

  For the first time in many months, Mulgrave laughed, the sound rich, joyous and full of life.

  EPILOGUE

  IT HAD BEEN FIVE YEARS NOW SINCE RIAMFADA HAD DEPARTED THE world. Feargol missed him still. He would often stare up and out at the stars, wondering if the spirit of Riamfada had ever found the Seidh.

  He was thinking of him now, as he strode down the wooded hillside, the morning sunshine glinting on his braided hair. He was a long way now from the great trees. The journey had taken several months. His moccasins were thin and all but worn out.

  A huge herd of bison was grazing on the grasslands as Feargol emerged from the woods. He stopped and watched them for a while. Then he began to run, falling into an easy, rhythmic lope. He loved to run, filling his lungs with the sweet cool air, feeling his body stretch and sweat and relax.

  He continued on for more than two hours, then climbed to the crest of a low hill and stopped to rest.

  Ahead he could just make out the line of the coast, and the blue sea beyond. Across the vastness of that ocean lay the land of his birth. He thought of it little now. This was his land. This wondrous continent of magnificent forests and mountains, rivers and valleys. Magic was everywhere, floating in the air, seeping from the earth, bubbling in the rivers. Feargol drew it in with every breath.

  Having rested he ran on, moving into sun-dappled woodland.

  When he arrived at last at his destination he sat and waited, gazing down at the distant compound. Few people were stirring there. This was hardly surprising. They were dying.

  Here, in a land rich with edible roots and game, they were starving to death.

  Feargol had waited for this moment for most of the fifteen years he had spent in this great land. Riamfada had warned him of it. The Varlish had finally crossed the ocean. They had come in a great ship, and had begun a settlement on the coast. They had brought books, and chairs, and clothing and guns. They had carried beds and pictures and chests laden with goods from home. Not one of them had brought a fishing line. Nor a horse or mule. Not a single cow, and certainly no seed corn. They had expected to be re-supplied by sea, but those supplies had never arrived. Now they were dying.

  And this was the pivotal moment that Riamfada had spoken of. What happened today would ultimately set the destiny of the world.

  Feargol calmed himself, allowing his spirit to commune with the land. He felt uneasy, and had done for months now, ever since these few Varlish had landed here.

  Towards dusk he rose from the ground and walked out to meet the seven hunters, laden with meat, who were heading for the compound.

  The leader, a tall broad-shouldered warrior with a broken nose and a scar across his lips, gave a crooked smile as he saw Feargol. He was carrying a small dead deer upon his shoulders.

  'Ha! Ghost Walker. Have you also come to marvel at our foolish visitors?'

  'Not to marvel, Saoquanta. You are carrying much meat.'

  'They are dying down there. They had one hunter, but he broke his leg. Now they have nothing.'

  'And you will feed them?'

  'It is a small thing, Ghost Walker.'

  'No, it is not, Saoquanta. It is a great thing. I have seen it.'

  Saoquanta tipped the deer from his shoulder to the ground. The other six warriors laid down the meat they were carrying. 'What is it that you have seen?'

  'I have seen the rivers boil and stink, and the air darken. I have seen the buffalo vanish and the land laid to waste. I have seen the tears of the mountains, and heard the cries of the valleys. The people in that compound will be the fathers and the mothers of the darkness. Their children will outnumber the stars. They will rape and mutilate the land until there is nothing clean left to destroy.'

  'These . . . fools will do this?' said Saoquanta.

  'And others like them.'

  'These words are heavy. They sit like stones upon the heart, Ghost Walker.'

  'And upon mine.'

  'What is it that you advise?'

  'I do not advise, Saoquanta. I merely prophesy.'

  The broken-nosed warrior nodded. 'Your dreams are always true. It is well known you walk the spirit paths. The Great Spirit has blessed you.'

  'He has.'

  'He has blessed me also, Ghost Walker. He has told me to protect my people, and to nurture the land. He has made me a hunter of great skill, and a provider to my people. I need to think on what you have said.'

  With that he moved away from Feargol and entered the trees.

  For more than an hour the hunters waited. At last Saoquanta returned. He sat once more with Feargol.

  'If I walk into my camp and I kill a child with my knife that would be evil and the Great Spirit would be saddened by my actions. Not so, Ghost Walker?'

  'It is so.'

  'If I walk into my camp and a child is starving and I offer it no food and it dies have I not killed it?'

  'Yes,' agreed Feargol, his heart heavy.

  'The fools have children with them. They are dying. I have food. If I walk away now will not the Great Spirit be saddened, Ghost Walker?'

  'The descendants of these people will have no understanding of the Great Spirit,' said Feargol. 'They will be thoughtless and greedy, merciless and vile.'

  'It seems to me you are saying that if I do this small evil then great good will grow from it. This may be a great truth. It is not a truth I choose to understand. I am Saoquanta. I am a hunter. I do not let children starve. This is not why the Great Spirit blessed me.' Saoquanta rose and lifted the deer to his shoulders.

  Feargol stood. Curiously the sense of unease left him. He felt free of the burden. 'You are a great man, Saoquanta. I shall walk with you, for I know the language of these men.'

  Together they walked down the hillside to the compound. There were no guards at the stockade and the gates were open. The hunters moved inside.

  Several gaunt men saw them. One of them, seeing the meat they carried, fell to his knees and offered up a prayer of thanksgiving.

  LORD FOUL'S BANE

  LORD FOUL'S BANE

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